


Tumblr Fills - Tommy/Alfie Edition

by boundinshallows (museme87)



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Always-A-Girl!Tommy, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderswap, Getting Together, M/M, Morning After, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/boundinshallows
Summary: A collection of one-shots based on prompts or gifts I've written over on tumblr. Each chapter is self-contained unless noted otherwise. Warnings provided in the notes for those ficlets that I feel might stray into trigger-y territory.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	1. heliotrope

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: For twobrokenwyngs who prompted me hustler!au + bruise.
> 
> Notes: My standard hustler!au warnings apply here (past underage, violence, sex work). This takes place fairly early on in T and A’s relationship in that ‘verse, prior to them getting together. 

Tommy’s like an eager pup in his arms—all wriggles and nips and tongue. He gets like this, doesn’t he, when Alfie hasn’t been around for a while. And it’s not as if he doesn’t _want_ to be around, mind, which he explains to Tommy time and again when money forces his hand. Still, Tommy’s face never fails to fall, his trainers kicking at the dirt sullenly as Alfie explains to him just how it’s got to be for now.

But he always comes back, doesn’t he? Half the time he thinks Tommy doesn’t believe him in the first place when he says it’ll only be temporary. Alfie’s not sure how many times he has to prove it to him, to watch the kid’s face light up when he realizes Alfie’s not a liar. And then it’s all a mad scramble, innit? Today they make it back to Alfie’s shitty flat, but that’s not always the case.

“Will you fuck me?” Tommy asks, wrapping one leg around Alfie’s and trying to hitch himself up into Alfie’s arms.

“Nah, mate, just brought you back for tea, didn’t I?”

Tommy sinks his blunt teeth into the meat of Alfie’s shoulder. “Not funny.”

“C’mon now.”

Alfie tries to unwrap Tommy from him in an attempt to start removing clothes, but Tommy whinges something awful. Sighing, Alfie curls his arm gently around Tommy’s waist and lets the kid have at it. When Tommy stands on his tip toes to reach Alfie’s mouth, Alfie meets his excitement with a steady press of his lips. His calmness is a bit infectious as Tommy slows just a little. It’s enough that Alfie can draw back and press his mouth to Tommy’s jaw, planting a trail of kisses on the underside and down his neck.

“Did you miss me?” Tommy asks, breathless.

“Might done.”

“Every day?”

Alfie smiles to himself; this kid—he got some wild, romantic notions, don’t he? He could tell the truth of it; that’s he’s too busy trying to tread fucking water to stop and think about him every day. But, the thing is, he _does_ think about Tommy from time to time when Tommy’s not around, right. And he has a bloody _heart_ , yeah, which is why he doesn’t tell Tommy the whole of it.

“Yeahhh, against me better judgment.” 

And he must have triggered something there because Tommy’s clutching him, making needy little huffs. Alfie tries to push him back again, and this time Tommy goes willingly, hands tearing at the edge of his shirt and lifting before Alfie can even think about it. His trousers soon follow suit.

When Tommy turns to toss them on his side of the bed, Alfie’s eyes are drawn to the mottled purple bruise spread wide across his hip and arse.

“Tommy?” Alfie asks, reaching out to examine it.

Tommy looks over his shoulder to see what Alfie’s spotted and says, “Forget it.”

“Who did that?”

“Just some man,” he says, shrugging. “They do it all the time.”

Alfie knows it; he has fucking eyes, don’t he. He sees the bruises, sometimes in the shape of fingers. But the thing is, they’ve not been this big before.

“Tom…”

Tommy rolls his eyes, acting every bit his age, and walks towards the bed. Dropping to his knees, he crawls to the center and glances back at Alfie. His expression is all seduction—or what only a teenager could think passes for it. Instead, it reminds Alfie just how young he is, playing games he has no business playing with men he has no business being alone with.

With a sigh, Alfie strips down to his boxer-briefs and joins Tommy on the mattress. The kid looks victorious and pounces. When Alfie rolls him onto his back, Tommy goes easily. It’s only when Alfie begins to fit himself around Tommy’s side, his arm slipping beneath his neck and the other across his too-skinny belly that Tommy protests.

“What—”

“None of that.”

“But I want—”

“I know, don’t I?” Alfie says, a bit stern before he softens. “And you’ll get it. I always, always take care of you. Just let me have this for a bit, yeah?”

For several long moments, Alfie waits for Tommy to start a bloody mutiny. But then he exhales—a bit dejected—and kisses Alfie’s collarbone.

“Yeah, alright.”


	2. nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For twobrokenwyngs who prompted "nostalgia! for tommy/alfie!!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More hustler!AU, but future fic this time! None of my standard hustler!au warnings really apply for this one, folks.

“You’ll never guess what I found today while I was cleaning out the cupboard in the spare room.”

Alfie looks up from his phone as Tommy pads into their bedroom in those tiny pants Tommy insists on buying. They look about a size too small and cost Alfie a fucking fortune, don’t they? But, right, well…they do delightful things to Tommy’s cock and arse, so Alfie has historically kept his grumbling to a minimum. He doubts he’ll stray far from tradition tonight.

“Everythin' in there ought to be burned. We haven’t looked at that shit in years. I’m not movin’ the bleedin’ boxes again, Tom. You hear me?”

Tommy rolls his eyes, reminding Alfie of the teenager he once was.

“Who said anything about moving, eh?” Tommy climbs onto the edge of the bed. “I’m not leaving this flat, so if you are, you’ll be going on your own.”

Alfie tosses his phone aside. “And how—and be honest, because I’ll know, right, I’ll know if you’re lyin' to me—just how the _fuck_ do you plan on payin’ for this place on your own now?”

“I’ll peddle my arse to rich old queens,” Tommy explains simply. He then lift’s his chin to gesture at Alfie. “It’s working well right now for me, isn’t it?”

“Oi, you cheeky little shit!”

Alfie lunges for him, but Tommy evades easily. They repeat it several more times before Tommy holds up his hand to stop the whole thing.

“Just close your eyes. I want to show you this.”

“Fine.”

The bed sinks again, and Alfie can sense Tommy shifting forward on his knees. He waits for Tommy’s soft _okay_ before he opens his eyes. Tommy’s once naked chest is now draped with a threadbare shirt emblazoned with a very faded Oxford emblem. Reaching out to touch the worn fabric, Alfie’s momentarily startled by the size of it—about two sizes too small for Tommy’s broad, muscled torso now. He can hardly believe it once fit him.

“Do you remember?”

“Hmm.” Alfie nods. “First trip out of London, was it?”

“We fucked in that alley,” Tommy adds, eyes bright and dancing. “Got jizz all over my shirt, so you bought me this one to replace it.”

Alfie’s brow pulls. “Did you ever wear it again?”

“Only a few times.” He bites his lip, holding back a grin. “We used it to clean-up for the most part after that, remember? To show those posh fucks what we thought of them.”

“Right, well, no wonder it’s so fuckin’ faded.”

With a firm hand on Alfie’s chest, Tommy pushes Alfie back to sitting and straddles his lap. Alfie slides his hands up Tommy’s hips and around his waist like he has for the past fourteen years. It’s unintentional now; pure muscle memory. Tommy dips his head to capture Alfie’s mouth, kissing him soft and slow, his teeth catching on Alfie’s thick lower lip as he draws back.

“What do you say?” Tommy asks, slipping the soft fabric across Alfie’s chest. “For old time’s sake?”


	3. heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the tumblr prompt "Tommy/Alfie + 11. heartbeat"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another ficlet in my girl!Tommy 'verse. If anyone is interested, the other can be found in Inktober for the prompt "Freeze."

This is the worst idea she’s ever had. Worse than selling off government guns. Worse than taking out Kimber.

She knew it when she’d let it happen the first time, drunk on gin and a business deal as good as closed. Alfie’d been there, played his part as best he could in that crowd, and when she’d found herself in his arms—when she’d seen him look at her looking like himself for the first time all night—it’d been a foregone conclusion.

They should have left it there, back in London. It should’ve never happened again.

Tommi runs her nails lightly over his chest, through the mess of brown-blond hair. Alfie’s dozed off, his face perfectly content (or as content as a man like Alfie can be). Sighing, she flattens her palm against his chest, feeling the slow beat of his heart against her hand. This would be a lot simpler if she didn’t like him, if she didn’t like _this_ —lying naked in bed, post-coital, watching him sleep.

But she does.

And half of London’s criminal underworld thinks she’s spreading her legs for Alfie Solomons in order to get a foothold in the city, but that it’s Alfie who’s really calling the shots. It’s not much different in Birmingham either. The only difference is they think she’s spreading her legs in an attempt to get him under her thumb and succeeding in spades.

And it’s not fucking _either_ , is it, because she’s smart and capable at what she does, but you can’t tell that to anyone. They won’t listen, not to a woman in this business. 

_Everyone’s a whore, Tommi. We just sell different parts of ourselves_.

Even though she _knows_ that—she’s fucking _lived_ by that—it still matters. Tommi’d sell most everything about herself, but not _that_.

Not even for lying in with Alfie Solomons after a night of getting well fucked.

Dipping her head, she presses a kiss to Alfie’s chest, her gaze flickering up to watch his expression. When he doesn’t stir, Tommi rests her head against it and lets herself have this, just for a bit longer.

A few moments later Alfie grumbles and stretches, curling his arm around her. She feels him shift, maybe to look down at her, but she doesn’t return his gaze.

“How much?” he asks, his voice sleep-raspy.

She flexes her fingers against his skin. “Hmm?”

“For your thoughts, poppet.”

“Fifty quid.”

Alfie jostles her a bit as he moves, and Tommi feels her heart drop a bit at the thought of Alfie getting up—even if it is only for a piss—because then the whole spell will be broken. It’ll be back to business as usual, and there will be things that need to be said.

But Alfie doesn’t get up. He settles back down into their little burrow of warmth, and suddenly he’s tossing money in her direction.

“Really?” she asks, finally raising her head to look at him.

“You low-balled yourself quite frankly.” Alfie shrugs. “To be perfectly honest, right, I am _shocked_ that you of all fuckin’ people would deem yourself worth so little, what with the way you strut around in those little couture dresses and red-bottomed shoes.” 

“This is a bad idea.”

Tommi says it without preamble, her tone not giving anything away. And Alfie picks up the thread of the conversation seamlessly because he’s Alfie, and he only plays dumb when it serves him.

“Are the Brummies goin’ to run me out of town for fuckin’ their gypsy princess?”

“Fuck off.”

Tommi sits up, bringing her knees to her chest. If he wants to be a fucking arsehole, she’s not going to bother.

“But that’s what they say, innit?” Alfie asks, trailing his fingertips across her lower back. “People ‘round here, s’what they say: your grandfather was some gypsy king.”

“People talk a lot of shit.”

Suddenly Alfie is there, sitting up next to her and moving her dark hair off her shoulder. He kisses her skin, the bristly hair of his beard nearly making her shiver.

“Hey.”

Tommi scoffs.

“I know, don’t I? Tommi…”

She finds herself thawing a bit at his tone—all aware and sympathetic. And there it is again, another thread picked up, an answer to her confession. Turning, Tommi glances over her shoulder and into his blue-grey eyes.

“We’ll stop then,” she says.

If he hears the little tremble beneath the steel of her voice, Alfie doesn’t let on. Instead, he strokes her cheek as if she’s the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“Course we will.” 


End file.
